


Dark Stories of the North

by Honorificabilitudinitatibus



Series: Jonsa Halloween Prompts [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Magic, Dark Sansa Stark, F/M, Mentions of Blood, Mind Reading, Non-Consensual Touching, Possessive Sansa Stark, Vampire Bites, Vampires, mentions of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honorificabilitudinitatibus/pseuds/Honorificabilitudinitatibus
Summary: Jon should never have tried to steal from the godswood. The weirwood is sacred in the North, and the price for treachery is steep.Written for the Jonsa Halloween Event.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Jonsa Halloween Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988923
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	Dark Stories of the North

The North was a harsh, beautiful land, covered in an eternal winter, and the ice that sparkled on the trees was lovelier than any precious gem he had ever seen.

Jon, however, did not have time to appreciate the beauty of the land- too concerned with the danger that seemed to lurk behind every branch, every rock and cliff and crevice- dark and deceptive creatures gliding through in the white landscape. He had known little of the realm beyond Dragonstone, save the stories of dangerous creatures, and the cold ones that were rumored to rule them. Some called them demons, some said that they drank the blood of their enemies and were near immortals- but Jon had never put much stock in stories of the North before his mother had fallen ill.

He’d searched, desperately, for a way to save her, and come upon an ancient tale of a bleeding tree- a weirwood. The stories claimed that the weirwood held a deep, _old,_ magic naught other could hold a candle to- magic that would grant the wishes of the bearer- and that it could only be found in the Northern lands.

After learning it could heal her, he’d thought of nothing so much as bringing her a single branch from the wild North. It was a child’s story- a myth- but his desperation had driven him this far, and his obsession had not faded with the chill. He’d ridden for miles, stumbling through snow and ice, alert and awake for days. He had felt eyes on him in the dark forests and kept his distance from the frozen river trident, wary of spirits that would seek to lure him in. All for this- all to make it to the grove where he now stood.

The weirwood was beautiful in a way that he’d never seen before- and yet, in a way, it felt oddly familiar to him. He paused, drinking in the sight of the chalk-white bark, the saturated crimson leaves covered in a layer of glassy ice. Something is humming in his bones, and Jon felt himself transfixed, frozen, as the world narrowed to whatever- whatever _power_ was coming from the weirwood.

There were tears in his eyes, he realized, as he reached out a shaking hand, gently resting it on the bark, the feeling like ice in his bones. _This will work_. He thinks, almost giddy with the idea, a bubble of hope in his chest. _She’ll live._

There was a sharp pain in his hand, though, and the eyes carved into the bark of the tree _snap_ open, fixing him with a terrifying gaze.

Jon was so shocked that he completely missed the shadows that surrounding him as he stumbled back. He froze when they stepped into sight- three men with hair the color of blood- of the weirwood- and with skin just as pale. The tallest of them all had an almost feral look, while another was thin and solemn, but it was clear that the man in the middle was in charge, as he stepped forward, black wool cloak rippling as he moved, the shiny black sable trim a stark contrast to his pale face.

“You have stepped onto land that is not yours, to take what does not belong to you.” The wildest of them hissed, his voice radiating a subtle fury. “What have you to say for yourself?”

Jon felt as though the breath had been sucked from his lungs, because although they look human, Jon is almost certain they are anything but. Back on Dragonstone, he was an experienced hunter- and any hunter worth his salt knew how to spot a predator. These men were far more dangerous than they appeared, holding so still that he couldn't even discern the rise and fall of their breath.

“He’ll have plenty to say to our dear sister, I’m sure.” The one in front met Jon’s startled gaze with a black-eyed stare. _They must be brothers_ , he thought, _for their shared looks_. “Run along ahead, Rickon, and tell her we bring a thief for her judgement.”

The wild one growled, and Jon nearly jumped back again when he saw the vivid red of his eyes- crimson, deeper and brighter than blood- but his brother put out an arm, halting his advance forward.

“I’ll not have you kill him before we find out why he wanted to steal from the godswood.” He told the red-eyed man- Rickon- who seemed to defer to him, backing off with a glare in his eyes. “You need to take a meal. Arya will be displeased if you kill him before she has a chance to pass down justice.”

Rickon growled once more, the lines of his body taut, but moved so quickly and quietly, as he disappeared into the woods, that Jon could feel his knees grow weak.

“You can accompany my men with dignity, or with your limbs removed.” The man said. He must have been the elder, for the way the other two deferred to him. “After trying to steal from our sacred godswood, I’m certain my brother would like nothing better than to tear your head from your shoulders.”

Jon stole a glimpse at the other man, whose anger was clear in the taut lines of his body, but who had kept his temper. He was biding his time, Jon realized, in a daze.

“I’ll come with you.” He agreed, standing slowly, trying not to tremble. “I’m not- I didn’t know this belonged to you-“

“ _I_ am not the one you need to convince.” The man raised an imperious eyebrow, as soldiers in black surrounded them. “Justice in this land is carried out by our sisters. You had best hope you find them in a merciful mood.”

Jon swallowed, shivering as he followed the man’s black cloak- embroidered, he noticed, with satin black thread- the dizzying patterns something only a very wealthy man would be able to afford. Suddenly, there was a swirl of gray smoke, fading like mist, and the two men simply vanished without sound. Jon felt his knees grow weak at the casual display of power.

Apparently, he was in more trouble than he realized.

* * *

Jon barely had time to gape at the massive stone castle before he was thrown to his knees in front of the three men in a snow-covered courtyard, a grunt escaping him as he felt his legs hit the ground.

“Show some respect to Lord Stark!” One of the guards hissed, when Jon tried to lift his head, shoving it back down. Through the curtain of his dark hair, he noticed the way the others bowed deeply to the three, and panic began to well in his chest.

“My Lord-“ one of the guards bowed to the eldest of the three, “Your… guest, as requested.”

“You have my gratitude, Rodrik, for bringing the trespasser and thief before us.” Lord Stark’s lip curled, eyeing Jon callously, as though he were no more than a mere insect. “He tried to steal from the godswood-“

Several gasps rang around the courtyard at the proclamation.

“A grievous crime indeed.” The third brother spoke- his voice soft as velvet. Jon could hear the undertone of fury in it, however. “Brother, it has been a while since the weirwood has been fed the blood of a man.”

“I’ll rip out his throat myself for his crime.” Lord Rickon growled. Jon shuddered- his eyes were darker than before, but as his lip curled into a sneer, Jon could see that his eyeteeth were long and sharp, glinting in the sunlit courtyard.

“Peace, Bran, Rickon.” Lord Stark's tone was calm and even as he held up a leather gloved hand. “We will not pass judgement before looking into his heart and mind to determine his guilt.”

Jon’s stomach dropped in fear.

“I- my mother is _dying_ -“ he gasped, trying desperately to defend himself.

“And so you would _defile_ our sacred tree?” the soft spoken one hissed, stepping forward with a furious anger in his eyes. They were red, Jon realized, like his brother’s- dark enough to seem black, but glinting like rubies as they flared.

“I didn’t know it was sacred-“ Jon pleaded, “I would never have-“

“And do you expect us to believe such a claim?” Lord Stark asked, tilting his head with a cold tone. “All of the north learn of the weirwood- what a terrible crime it is to defile one- in their infancy. My brother’s anger is justified, trespasser.”

“My lord, I am not _of_ the north!” Jon argued, feeling another flash of fear as Lord Rickon snarled, revealing pointed teeth. “I come from Dragonstone- far to the south!“

“For your sake-“ the lord murmured, looking at him with something almost akin to pity, “I hope that the words you speak are the truth.”

There was a commotion, and Jon heard murmurs as the crowd parted to let two women pass through. One was clothed in the same black and sable robes as the lords, but with hair as dark as as a blackened birch, her shadowed eyes dark as her gaze rested on Jon.

The other, though, made Jon’s breath catch, her white cloak trailing in the snow as she swept in next to her sister. The fur surrounding her neck was white as well, and her blood red hair was swept up into an elegant knot at the back of her head when she lowered her hood. Her eyes- the brightest ruby red Jon had ever seen and lined with an intense black kohl- fixed on his form.

“Sansa-“ the lord greeted, turning to press a kiss to her pale cheek, as the woman’s- _Sansa’s-_ eyes remained focused on Jon, “Radiant as always.”

“This is him, then?” she asked, raising an immaculate brow. “The thief who would take the sacred blood of the weirwood?”

The girl next to her snarled, hand gripping the hilt of a glass dagger.

“How-“ Sansa paused, her lips drawing apart in a sultry smile, “-quaint.”

“He claims to have southern blood.” Lord Stark addressed her. Sansa raised a brow.

“A liar, certainly.” The other girl growled. “He has the look of the north.”

“I’m sure we can parse the truth from his lies soon enough, Arya.” Sansa murmured. Something in her gaze made Jon shudder as she stepped forward, her grace almost inhuman.

“My lady, please-“ Jon spoke, his words cut off by an invisible hand slicing across his throat as Sansa flicked a finger, raising her brow.

“Curious indeed.” She crooned, reaching down to take his head in her hand, cradling his jaw with an ungloved hand that was icy on his bare skin. Jon could feel his own pulse racing, but there was none from the woman in front of him. She smirked then, as though she could hear his thoughts, and then something frozen was swirling through his brain, sharp and blank and cold.

A white roar echoed between his ears, and Jon vaguely heard himself gasp, snapping his eyes open to look up into her lovely, heart-shaped face.

“Well, Jon Snow,” She murmured, her cold hand still brushing feather light on his jaw, “Aren’t you interesting?”

She looked up, into the eyes of her brother.

“He speaks the truth within his heart, Robb.”

“Sister-“ Rickon turned to the redhead standing next to him, his snarl firmly pasted onto his face, “-He has broken the laws of our lands, and yet you would spare his life?”

“I would.” The redhead smiled, revealing a mouth full of dazzling, sharp teeth. Jon shuddered, and her grin seemed to widen as she saw it. Her beauty was overwhelming, and yet alien, up close, her sharp red eyes set in a face paler than milk. Diamonds dripped from her ears, and she looked as cold as her hand on his jaw felt. He had never seen anyone like her- he wasn’t sure that there _was_ anyone else like her.

“If you wanted a toy, I’m certain you could find one that smelled less of… dogs.” The girl next to her wrinkled her nose as she bared her teeth. “This one hasn’t bathed in ages.”

“That can be easily remedied.” The woman said, slowly, the delighted smile not leaving her face as her red eyes fixed on Jon’s face, emphasized by the chalk white of her skin. “Do you not feel the pull of him, Arya? The magic that lies dormant beneath his skin?”

“There are others if you’ve grown bored of your current consort.” Lord Stark pointed out.

“Not like him.” Sansa murmured. “I’m not sure that we’ve ever seen anything like him before.” Jon felt an the whisper of an icy tendril creeping up his neck and into his mind again- the woman was the only one before him without a weapon, and yet, Jon did not for a second believe her to be unarmed. The white fur of her cloak was stark against the bloody banner of her hair that rippled down her back, and he could _feel_ the magic in her form, just as he had felt the power of the weirwood tree in the godswood.

She turned to face the rest of the court, her voice amplified through the still air.

“His heart and mind are true, and his life will belong in my hands from this day forward.” She commanded, authority ringing through her tone. “Leave us!”

The others bowed, and her siblings inclined their heads, even as they looked vaguely mutinous. All but Lord Stark, who merely raised his eyebrows, amusement playing in his obsidian eyes.

"You are certain?" he asked.

"Of course."

“Then he is in your care, Sansa.” He agreed, vanishing into smoke with nothing more than a whisper.

* * *

“Come with me.” She commanded, taking his arm once the courtyard had emptied. Jon didn’t dare argue.

“What are you?” he asked, as she drew him towards a stone bench in the courtyard, underneath a massive, gnarled tree, icicles dripping from its pitch-black bark.

“What do you think I am, Jon Snow?” she asked, perching next to him as they sat.

“Your heart doesn’t beat.” Jon was trying not to let the fear in his voice show. “I can feel no pulse when you hold my arm. You look as though your blood would not spill- as though you have none left to spill.” He whispered, unable to take his eyes off her. “My own breath fogs in the cold, but I cannot tell if you even have breath at all.”

She smiled at him, something indulgent and dangerous, dark lips curling upwards.

“Clever man. This frightens you?”

“There are stories.” Jon murmured, trying to meet her eyes as best he can. She seems to like his daring. “In the south, stories of demons and monsters and immortals, but no one thinks them anything but stories.”

“That seems fairly short-sighted.” Sansa looks delighted, raising a brow as her sharp teeth come into view again with her grin. “What do you think?”

“I think that you aren’t-“ Jon straightened his spine, raising his chin; If they were going to kill him, he was not going to roll over and allow it to happen, “-that you are not alive the way I am. The way humans are.”

“We dwell in a realm of eternal winter.” Sansa murmured. “Of eternal death. Should we not reflect the land we rule over?”

“What do you gain from it?” Jon asked, impulsively, before he could stop himself. Sansa cocked her head, considering him like a predator sizing up her next meal.

“We are forever.” She simply told him. “Eternal.”

“And me?” Jon asked, daringly. “I’m certainly nothing like you.”

“Oh but you _will_ be.” Sansa’s lips curved upwards. Jon furrowed his brow, unsure of her words.

“My mother is ill.” He pleaded. “I cannot stay-“

“I know all about your mother, Jon Snow.” Sansa raised an eyebrow. “The moment I touched your face, I knew every thought that had ever crossed your mind. I looked into your heart- your _soul_ \- and I know of her infirmity. Without aid, she will not last the winter.”

“Then you understand that I cannot stay here-“ Jon tried, only to be cut off by her high, clear laugh ringing through the courtyard.

“Fortunately for you, _Jon_ -“ Sansa smirked, “-I am feeling particularly gracious this evening. I offer you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I will _personally_ see to it that a weirwood bough is brought south to your mother.” She whispered, leaning in until her lips brushed his ear. “In return, you will remain here- as my _honored_ guest.” She smelled of iron and smoke and the frost on a winter morning, her presence dizzying to his senses. “Do you agree to my terms?”

“Why would you- why do you want me?” he managed to ask, feeling her fingers curl around the other side of his neck.

“I told you-“ Sansa breathed, “that I looked into your mind and soul. You are more than you realize, Jon Snow.”

“I’m- what?” He didn't understand- couldn't think with her eyes burning his skin.

“You _try_ my patience.” Sansa muttered, her nails tightening on his neck. “Make your choice.”

Jon screwed his eyes shut, shuddering at her proximity. It was no choice, really- not when his mother’s life was at stake.

“Yes.” He whispered. “I agree to your terms.”

“ _Excellent_.” She crooned, leaning in closer to him. ”Hold very still,” she murmured, running her fingers- her sharp nails- lightly up Jon’s neck as she tilted his head to the side. He felt himself comply with her demands, his body lost in the cold wilderness that she seemed to radiate as the fur around the collar of her sleeve brushed his face. “What an obedient creature you are.” She smirked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Jon’s neck that had him gasping, skin shivering at the chill of her mouth.

“You asked me earlier-“ She whispered, cold breath on his neck, “What we were.” He saw her red eyes briefly flick up to his, sparking with a wicked delight. “I believe that your kind would call us… _vampires_.”

And then she bit down.

Jon gasped, the sudden pain like venom burning in his veins before fading to a bliss that had him bending his neck back farther, shutting his eyes as something warm and wet dribbled down his neck.

“Oh you taste _exquisite_ -“ Sansa panted, licking her lips as she drew back, “I _knew_ you would.”

She smiled a bloody grin.

“Exquisite… and _mine_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for day 4 of the Jonsa halloween event- and the prompt I chose was 'Monsters', which was a lot of fun to write.
> 
> I am not going to lie- IMDB keeps showing me ads for the twilight movies when I watch leverage, and I paused it by accident on a screencap of the volturi, watched that scene in breaking dawn out of sheer curiosity, and concluded that Michael Sheen was the only redeeming aspect of that entire goddamn movie (it. is. so. bad.), and I thoroughly maintain that twilight could have been brilliant if written as a tragedy but noooooo. Nonetheless, that sparked the inspiration for this, although I hope it doesn't read anything like Meyer's books. There's some beauty and the beast elements as well, but with the usual fare a bit reversed (Sansa as a beautiful monster with Jon as her prisoner), and it's darker than I usually write, so I hope you'll let me know if there's something I've missed tagging for.
> 
> Thanks so much for all of your kind words, your comments and kudos and bookmarks and subscriptions! I love getting to hear from all of you- feel free to come say hi to me on tumblr! I’m @mkstrigidae! Stay safe and healthy, and hang in there, friends.


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